Starbuckies!

You probably can't read it - but this is the beer/wine menu (!) at Starbucks here in Portland.  Is Starbuckies going to roll out beer and wine service to the rest of the country???   Because I’d just like to select the geography of my next consulting gig based on their roll-out schedule.  Seriously….coffee, beer, wine & rice krispie treats all in one location?  ~Heaven~  It’s as if I am a focus group of 1 for SB.  50% of my restaurant budget already goes to SB, but I may as well start signing over the other half of my paycheck right now.  Honestly, I may never need to set foot in another retail establishment again.  If they add bbq chips to the menu, I’ll just move in. 

And speaking of retail – I am MUCH more likely to buy that $13 tin of hot cocoa after a couple Venti Miller Lites.  Actually, we found out the hard way that the Pinot does not come in Venti size after all (not yet anyway…give the SB bean counters another year and we’ll be able to get that whole wine bottle in a SB sippy cup). 

Now you will never QUITE know what’s in that starbuckies coffee cup I’m carrying around, will you?

Leave it to Starbuckies though, now you have to stand in line behind a person ordering a half-dry, extra cold, double tall, skinny vanilla latte AND a person ordering an undecanted, medium toast, low brix older vintage.  Wait – is that Blondie in front of me???

My only concern?  If a cup of coffee costs $3.95 at Starbuckies…how much does something with alcohol in it cost??? 

Peanuts Schmeanuts

There’s something about flying cross country that brings out the hoarding, binging crazy in me.  Subconsciously, ….I think I'm really afraid a wayward hunger pang will hit at the 3 hour mark of a 6-hr flight (with no access to additional provisions) and madness will result.  Which is weird since I routinely go without eating for 6 hours at work (the approximate duration of my staff meetings).  But there’s something about being trapped for hours without food that causes my complete panic….that I might end up like that soccer team stranded and starving in the Andes after their plane crashed (although I'm pretty sure cannibalism didn't set in at the six hour mark).  Or at the very minimum, that I’ll end up in a hunger-inspired peanut-and-pretzel-related TSA event. 

So better to be safe than sorry, I say, by buying stupid amounts of pre-travel provisions.  Besides….the sucky-travel-schlep factor burns MASSIVE calories – RIGHT??   (Or is that why they call it comfort food??)  Honest to god….I buy more at the Paradies shop of the San Diego airport than I EVER have at a grocery store.  On Monday I spent $50 at the airport before my flight left.  $50!!  Here’s what $50 buys you at an airport:

$5.50     Starbucks (first things first, afterall)

$5.50     3 newspapers (maybe ONE of them will cover the Titans)

$9.89     Blimpie sandwich (where’s the $5 footlong when you need it??)
$7.75     Back to the newsstand for two protein bars (but not the good kind that taste like a candy bar so you eat them right away – the real protein bars that you ONLY eat in a real, real emergency.  Like just before you go all stranded-Andes-soccer-player on someone.)

$8.00     Another trip to the newsstand for a pack of Hall’s and the ibuprofen travel pack (I may not have a cold right now, but I am sure I will by the time I land) 

$4.00     before I leave the newsstand this time, I better get a bag of chips to go with my Blimpie (I mean I’m entitled to a side item at lunch, right?)   Make that $6.50 so I can get a Rice Krispie Treat as a….well…a TREAT (because I’m going to spend all day on a freakin’ plane and I deserve a little treat – dammit)

$5.00     I’m sure I dropped at LEAST a fiver along the way (my offering to the airport gods)

$6.05     In change at the bottom of my briefcase

By the end of my little shopping spree, my newsstand shopping bag is the same size as my suitcase, I’ve undertaken a personal airport stimulus and I’ve individually assumed all of Angelina Jolie’s carb-offsets.  In fact, on MORE than 1 occasion – I have purchased a sandwich before departure only to cart it across the country, onward to the waiting taxi and into the fridge at home before Rita throws it away as part of salmonella prevention month.  (Like airport food could ever really go BAD!)

And god forbid I’m RUSHED at the airport.  Tonight I only had 9 minutes to get all my provisions.  What a scene - like that episode of Laverne & Shirley where they have 30 seconds to grab everything they can in a grocery store give-away.  Not.  Pretty.  When I finally got on the plane, my hastily-assembled stash included a Russian language newspaper, a family-sized bag of Ruffles and a gyro that I don’t even remember buying.  (When was the last time I ate a GYRO?  The 1996 Fall Festival??)   

Well, all this typing is making me hungry (or is it the guy sitting next to me who smells like Greek food), so I better go. 

Fun with Colonoscopies

If I ever decide to become a professional blogger (a girl can dream, can’t she?) – I am going to spend my days driving people home from colonoscopy appointments.

Actually, Rita was better than most at the conclusion of her mid-century milestone.  That might be due to her impeccable preparation – she had been eating white foods for the better part of a week (although there was some controversy about whether white wine constituted a clear liquid) and I think she fasted an extra 12 hours just for good measure.

When I went to pick up Little Miss Compliant in the recovery room, she was still recuperating from the fantastic anesthetic they use.  “How are you feeling Rita?”  “STONED!” came the reply from behind the flimsy sheet/curtain down the hall. (Of course, I had been talking to what turned out to be a total stranger laying there in the recovery room because everyone looks alike when they’re asleep under a blanket & wearing those little blue surgical hats.)

When I finally found the CORRECT patient, the nurse was there to explain the results and the post-procedure instructions.  “The anesthesia has amnesiac qualities so don’t be surprised if she forgets things this morning.  Also, no important decisions today.  And most importantly, no polyps or bad results of any kind – isn’t that right Rita?”

“That’s right – a clean bill of health!  But why did you wake me up…I want to SLEEP.  How can I get some of that anesthesia stuff for home?”  Ummmm, Michael Jackson tried that, remember?  "By the way,” she asked me, “how was your conference call?” (so thoughtful, asking about MY morning when she’d just had her colon blown up like a birthday balloon.)   

And then we rolled outta there.  Rita immediately put on her larger-than-life sunglasses and starting dozing off in the passenger seat, and I focused on taking full advantage of the anesthesia – “What are you getting me for Christmas?  Is that ‘special’ wine for me really the good stuff??”

She didn’t come across with any good information, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t Chatty Patty (or more accurately, Slow-talking Stoner Stacie) – “I want spaghetti for lunch.  Hey how was your conference call?  Did they find any polyps?”  I hated to not honor the lunch request but spaghetti at 9:45 in the morning was going to be a challenge.  We headed off to Little Italy where Rita insisted on going with me to look for an open restaurant. 

As she drunkenly careened back and forth down the sidewalk, I tried to make sure her hospital ID bracelet was visible (so that maybe people wouldn’t think she’d just had a bottle of wine for breakfast and headed out in her sweat pants and bleary-eye-covering-sunglasses).  We eventually found an open restaurant and I parked her at an outside table while I went in  to order (fingers crossed that no one steals her while I am ordering her breakfast pasta because she was asleep before I hit the door).  When I came back with the food, however, she had been looking at the menu and was happy to report (after asking me about my conference call and the results of her test) that she thought she was going to make red-sauce pasta for dinner tonight and then a “white sauce” lasagna tomorrow night.  I guess if I had just been through a colon blow, I’d want to carbo-load too.  Unfortunately, however, it  appeared I wasn’t going to see a pasta-free meal until this anesthesia was gone.   

By this stage, the inquiries about the conference call had lasted longer than the call itself and she was still dying to know about the results of her test so I thought it was time to get home and put her to bed.

Where visions of linguini danced in her head. 

Thanksgiving!

Since it's Thanksgiving night, I should take a minute to remember the things I appreciate.

So here it is....The Top 10 Things I'm Thankful For:

10.  A holiday where I’m not taking advantage of the free in-flight cocktail on Southwest.

9.  That Rita thinks of the Bloody Mary bar as “cooking” and takes it just as seriously.

8.  Speaking of Bloody Mary’s – I am thankful to spend T-giving with friends that prefer a Turkey shot to a Turkey trot

7.  I'm thankful that even people that don’t like football want to watch games on Thanksgiving

6.  That calories don’t count on Thanksgiving

5.  Fat jeans

4.  I’m thankful that there are enough doors in this house to close off the pets during dinner

3.  That somewhere still stays open on T-giving to sell propane to those of us who may have forgotten to get it yesterday (no matter how many times we were reminded)

2.  That we still have 52 Republican debates remaining this year and Rick Perry’s going to be in all of them

1.  I’m thankful that the turkey that’s been chilling in the driveway for two days in a cooler that didn't quite close didn’t draw the attention of Molly or our resident skunk

Kitten Chow How

We’ve recently added a few new members to the family.  New kitten Winston McPirkl and his sister McKinley (my vote for Clementine for the 2^nd kitten was overruled by the non-WWII buffs in the house) joined the family six weeks ago.  I told Rita I felt like Brangelina adopting more kids for the nanny to take care of, but what the hell….there’s worse things than being raised by our petsitter(s). 

As a direct result of our recent additions, Molly the wonderdog has blown up like a balloon.  You see, when Molly Magoo is not busy eating the high-calorie kitten food, she is enjoying the all-you-can-eat-buffet of kittie roca from the litter box.  [ewwwwww]  For the first week the kittens were here, we kept thinking “wow, they are HUNGRY.  Look how much food they are going through.”  [mother of the year!]  Then on Day 5 we caught Molly licking her lips with a pellet of the good stuff dangling from her whisker.  Keep in mind, that this is the dog who has been on an all-veggie diet for the better part of a decade.  She hasn’t had a “full-flavor” anything in about 7 years, (but we keep telling her that carrots are just as good). 

To rein things in, we put the cat's food on the second floor of the kittie condo, where we thought it would be out of reach – only to find the little sausage ball could SOMEHOW get up there (every day for a week) and steal the kitten’s food.  The old girl can't even walk around the block without heavy breathing and yet she’s a doggie Olympian in the high jump.  Turns out Molly has a vertical leap that is exactly as high as the kitten food is from the ground. 

So now the kitten food is on top of Rita's desk (did I mention she is out of town this week?).  I am guessing that won’t be a permanent arrangement – and I’m not even sure if it’s enough.  Pretty soon, those cats are going to have to ascend Mount Refrigeranjaro just to eat breakfast. 

I don’t know why Magoo chases those little guys…they’re her meal ticket...literally. 

United

I feel sorry for anyone who has to provide customer service to me:

1. After I’ve had 4 or 5 cups of coffee
2. When I’d rather be home
3. And especially when I happen to be in an airplane boarding line, where I seem to lose my pleasant disposition mind.  Honest to god, if I acted all the time like I do in airplane boarding lines…..well…..I’d be the Big Tall Bitch my employees refer to me as [ummmm…..uh-oh].  As an A-list/premier/silver member of every airline in the country I think I must live in a perpetual state of platinum envy [always the bridesmaid and never the first class bride] and it brings out the WORST in me.

Which brings us to Friday’s little travelogue.  I mean…here I was, all excited to be taking my first United flight since achieving grand poo-bah [i.e., silver] status on United, only to draw the gate agent who:

• has yet to complete her how-not-to-be-a-bitch-to-your-customers training 
• is in the midst of an IRS audit [oh wait, that’s me.  And yet I wasn’t the one who started this bitch-down]
• couldn’t get her (grand)kids to listen to her this morning and is going to take it out on everybody who doesn’t appear to be aging as badly – and by that I mean the passenger with the oxygen tank.  [Whatever.  She was mean.]

Let’s just say that she and the Soup Nazi and can vie for keynote speaker at the next Occupational Nazi conference. 

Besides, who knew they could actually enforce that sign that says “your bag must fit in here”??  I routinely walk past hundreds of those models guarded by TSA agents with GUNS and I never give my bigger-than-most-Samsonite-luggage-from-the-70s rollerbag a second thought. Besides, I thought those models were a suggestion….especially for us silver-type elites.  Seriously, I can almost always cram that bastard into the carryon compartment, usually without even cracking the plastic housing of the overhead.

I probably should have known I was in trouble when she made the early-boarding gentlemen count his oxygen tank and pillbox as all of his allotted carryons – say goodbye to your fanny-pack, poor guy.  When she made the Marine check his completely collapsible duffel bag, I should have just called it a day for my own person-sized luggage.

But nooooo….I thought I could just roller on by.  “Ma’am, does your bag fit in that guide over there?”  Now….you know which guide I’m talking about…..the metal skeleton thing that is a fraction of the size of the actual overhead.  Like some smart-ass was in charge of building enforcement models that day.  I don’t even think it’s built to SCALE nevermind actual size.  Seriously…..my rollerbag didn’t’ fit in, on or near that damn model.  “Give me a break lady, my backpack wouldn’t fit in that stupid thing.”  Ummmmmm, WRONG $^!%@&!’in ANSWER!  I damn near lost everything I own to that Gate Gaddafi.  After a hasty, profanity-laden repacking of my backpack to remove some of the more “bulgey” items, I negotiated the release carryon of at least my (now anorexic) backpack.  But not before I sat off to the side for 15 minutes reorganizing every single compartment in reach while snarkily saying – “What about HIS bag, I bet it doesn’t fit either.  Or is he Platinum??” about 15 times.  [As I said, boarding gates & my better judgment don’t seem to be well acquainted with one another.]  I’m probably lucky I didn’t get jumped in the exit row by my fellow passengers. 

And I may have escaped with my power-cordless laptop [power cords are very bulgey], but boy was I steamed.  I considered several insurgent tactics to get back at United, such as “forgetting” that my medication was in my recently confiscated checked bag.  Then after they frantically scrambled to get my unjustly checked bag from the bowels of the plane, I could jauntily retrieve the Emergen-C from my suitcase. Ha, ha, ha.  But all of my ridiculous plots ended with me spending the day with TSA while my bag returned to San Diego, so I just shut up.    

All I can say is United must be bonusing their employees on checked baggage quotas [and Jessica Tandy is gunning for the President’s Circle], because I was just one of many disgruntled poo-bah types shuffling baggage-less down the aisles [even after I quit ratting out other passengers].  And while the overhead compartments in First Class looked crammed with bulbous, contraband luggage, Economy was a ghost town of half-empty storage.  The flight attendants actually requested we put our coats up there “so it doesn’t look like so much wasted space. Ha, ha.”

By the end of the flight….I had finally calmed down [or maybe the caffeine just wore off]…UNTIL they opened the Completely.  Empty.  Overhead.  Compartment.  Above.  Me.